


you could release me

by ElasticElla



Series: follower milestone ficlets [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7192604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabelle takes one last look at the photograph of her target, Clarissa Morgenstern, before tucking it into her jacket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you could release me

**Author's Note:**

> blatantly inspired by spy kids opening scene & also like how is that movie not a common au for every ship ever, cmon guys  
> aged up a bit because I wanted clary to have her own studio

Isabelle takes one last look at the photograph of her target, Clarissa Morgenstern, before tucking it into her jacket. The red head isn't like her usual targets- the Clave usually sends her after other spies and assassins, not politicians' daughters. It makes her feel a bit uneasy, today she'll be killing someone who doesn't even stand a chance against her. Someone who wasn't in this fight, an innocent dragged in-

And Isabelle can't think like that. She has a job to do, and with one last check that all of her wigs and disguises are ready, she steps into the Brooklyn Academy of Art. As a blonde in a black trench coat she signs the visitor log as _Cynthia Johnson_ , simple but not too simple, an empty smile for the receptionist. Ditching the first wig and jacket in a corner trashcan, she goes up the elevator as a brunette in a long tan coat. Which is also dropped when she gets to the right floor, the one Clarissa has a small studio on as a junior student. Trashing the last outfit that two students saw her in, the 'artsy' one with a pink wig and paint splattered jacket, Izzy goes in as herself. It's something she usually avoids, but there isn't much risk with this one, nor are there likely to be any witnesses. 

The studio's door swings open when she knocks, and no one answers her, “Hello?” 

Against her better judgment, Izzy sneaks in, doesn't go for the knives hidden beneath her dress. The room isn't that big, but it's covered, wall to wall in paintings and sketches. They're darker than she would have guessed, don't mesh with the photo she has of a girl laughing with her friends. Isabelle finds herself sucked into them, circling the room as she looks at landscapes and mythological creatures and women and pages from a graphic novel, out of order but still stunning. She reaches the beginning again, and there's an easel- she isn't sure _how_ she missed it. 

There's a painting of her on it, realistic enough to make her shiver and the moment Izzy goes for her knives she hears a soft, “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” 

There's the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking, and Izzy has the ridiculous urge to tell the girl she doesn't need to do that, that guns don't work like that anymore and she wonders how well she knows how to use it. Alec always said her arrogance would get her killed one day. (God, if she gets out of this alive, he's going to kill her.)

“Hands up,” she says. And Izzy raises them, turning around slowly. Clarissa's hands aren't shaking, her mouth is set, and there are bits of paint all over her hands and a swipe of blue beneath her chin. 

“Your artwork's really impressive,” Izzy says. “How long did you know I was coming?” 

“Two weeks,” she says, lips turning down a bit. “You were a lot slower than the last one, Raj. He came a day later, I only had his sketch done.”

Izzy swallows, pushing away the thought that she's killed before and is obviously willing to kill her. “So if I'd waited longer, would I have gotten a mural?”

Clarissa looks at her in disbelief, a startled laugh coming out. “You're not what I expected.” 

“Neither are you.” 

“You haven't tried to take my gun.” 

Izzy raises an eyebrow, “Is that a suggestion?” 

“No. Promise to continue not trying to kill me?” 

“I do value my life-” Izzy begins, but Clarissa's already turning away, tucking the gun into her jeans and opening a jar of red paint- no, blood.

Izzy could kill her. Izzy _should_ kill her. This was definitely going to come back to bite her one day. But watching the tiny red head pour blood all over the floor, speckling some on the walls, she doesn't want to. And she might not need to. 

Clarissa finishes at the doorway, a gory scene left behind. “I'm going to disappear now. Dead I assume your group will stop sending people after me.” 

“What about the painting?” Izzy asks. 

“Keep it,” Clarissa says with a small smile, footsteps fading away. 

It'd be suspicious not to take it- the Clave would have questions about how there was a painting of herself at the target's studio. And maybe she'll keep an eye on her, just to make sure the Clave doesn't catch wind of Clarissa being alive.


End file.
